It was Hamza who answered. “Pete Hill, the taxi driver who took them out to the house, he reckoned the baby couldn’t be more than a couple of weeks old.”

“Which would fit in with the timeline of Archie getting his hands on it,” Sinead continued. “If it was two weeks old when they were in Fort William, and the cleaner saw them with it nine days earlier…”

“It would’ve been practically a newborn,” Ben concluded. “Shite. Have you—?”

“Already spoken to the maternity unit at Raigmore, sir,” Sinead confirmed. “We’ve got the details of all the women who gave birth there that week.” She stepped past him and pinned a list to the board. Quite a long list, he noted. “All forty-seven of them.”

“Forty-seven? Christ, was there a power cut nine months ago, or something?” Ben asked. He rolled his head around on his shoulders, stretching out the stiffness in his neck, then he fished his wallet from his jacket pocket. “Right, who’s on the phones, and who’s going out to J.J.’s to get the bacon rolls?”

* * *

It had been a long time since Logan had last sat across a table from Shuggie Cowan. It was not an experience he had missed.

A lot had changed between those days and now, of course. Both men were older for one thing. Maybe wiser, although they’d have to wait for time to tell.

Age had delivered Cowan the kicking that Logan himself had longed to give the bastard so many times over the years. He had not taken well to his later years. He’d been a boxer in his prime. A heavyweight, with emphasis on the first part. There had been very few men in Glasgow willing to stand toe to toe with him either in the ring or out of it, and fewer still willing—or indeed able—to try twice.

A couple of decades of high time and good living had softened him physically, though, so the bulk of his muscles was now simply bulk and nothing more. He was still a man who could do you a lot of damage, Logan reckoned, but mostly by falling on you, and there was no saying he’d be able to get back up without the help of a trained first-aider.

And, of course, he was still a man who could do you a lot of damage via his close network of younger, fitter, stronger bastards. Loyal men without an off-switch.

Some things never changed.

He’d protested Tyler being taken away initially. Then, when it was clear that they would be taking him regardless, he’d switched to assuring the DC that everything was going to be OK. And it was. Definitely. Nothing to worry about.

He hoped.